Moonlight
by RhinoGhost
Summary: Will she mess up? Step on his toes? Or spill the glass of champagne on his suit? She's not used to any of this, but hopefully he'll be able to comfort her.


**Hello! Well I just want to tell you this is a France and Female Canada fan fiction and I hope you enjoy my fan fiction! I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya. **

The warm air swelled with jazzy music and chattering people, glasses clinking together or onto the bartender's counter to be filled with the burning bronze liquid that was as intoxicating as the sparkling dresses that swirled around the room. Deep blue fabrics with foamy tulle and smooth red velvet pricked with snowy diamonds made her seashell pink dress pale in comparison.

The only color to be seen on her was the dark red blush spread across her cheeks, as her curious violet eyes watched the dresses swish across the floor hoping that he would soon arrive. Her throat scratching and tight with nerves would quickly be relieved by his reassuring smile.

Until then she would sip the bubbly champagne to calm her nerves that were acting up for more reasons besides the bemused and brazen glares and that for now she was all alone on her first date. What she was more nervous about was how to act on a date especially on a date with a man who had been rumored to charm hundreds of women and somehow had picked her; the girl who was white noise in the crowd of bellowing cellos and singing violins.

And she was also a girl, who had never been in a relationship, but he had gotten her into this fancy club with a sweet smile, a dozen roses, and an attempted hand holding that was stopped when she stepped away and agreed with a red face burning with embarrassment and excitement.

But the excitement soon turned to worry when she checked her watch and he was fifteen minutes late. She took a sip of her champagne, contemplating the possibilities of why he was so late. There could be traffic but then, the entire date could've been a cruel joke.

The champagne turned sour on her tongue as the minutes ticked by. Soon he was thirty minutes late and there was no sign of the Frenchman. She stood, her glass empty and her cheeks burning with embarrassment, as she made her way to the bar to dispose of her glass, but when she did there was a sudden hush of the crowd.

Painted eyes brightened and ties were loosened in worry when the door burst open and a cold gush of wind chilled the room. The Frenchman let himself in, his bright blue eyes searching the room for the small nervous girl who had frozen in her place and had forgotten all about her previous ideas.

"I am so sorry, my sweet maple," he said. His warm hands were soft but his fingertips were calloused and resting on her burning cheeks. It was obvious his looks had made him late. "I promise to make it up to you tonight."

And all of her emotions were replaced by confusion and worry, butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart going wild with worry. She was so unaccustomed to being complimented. Should she say thank you? No, she was on a date. She should complement him and tell him it's alright, but her lips were frozen in surprise when he leaned in and attempted to place a kiss on her cheek.

A jolt went through her body and she stepped away, flushed with embarrassment at his look of surprise. She tried to say something to break the creeping silence, "How was work?"

His flirtatious smile returned. "I was a bit distracted," he said resting against the bar.

There was more awkward silence, but she quickly broke it. "By what?"

He stood and stretched, his hand reaching out for hers. "I was hoping we could do some dancing?"

She stared at his hand and glanced at his face. She had never gone dancing before and probably had two left feet. She would end up embarrassing herself, knocking into people, or stepping on Francis's toes. He would be appalled by how sweaty her hand was, or he would feel her heart ready to break from her chest. She wanted to be on this date and the longer she looked at Francis' and really thought about it the more anxious she became of messing up, spoiling the night and any future dates completely.

A saving grace appeared in the corner of her eye. A fresh glass of champagne replaced her old one. She silently thanked the bartender and grabbed the glass, taking a quick sip before saying, "How about…we just talk?"

Though she had been failing at that so far, he didn't seem to mind and it gave her a chance to grow more comfortable with him, though she still scooted away when he tried to wrap an arm around her.

He quickly finished his second glass of champagne while she wasn't even half finished with hers; a wide grin was on his red face as he talked about his job at the dry cleaners.

"I used to hate my job," he said, his blue eyes admiring the twirling fabric of the crowd.

This hadn't caught Madeline by surprise. He seemed so happy with his job as a seamstress at the cleaners, though she could imagine how repairing buttons and ripped sleeves day after day could become a bit dull, especially when Francis wanted to do professional work.

"But then a beautiful girl walked in with a ripped coat sleeve," he said, glancing over at her, and his knowing smile sipped the last drop of champagne.

She blushed for the hundredth time that night, remembering when she had found a rip in her coat sleeve and went to have it professionally repaired. She had bumped into Francis who was more than happy to fix it and write down a date time and place on her receipt.

"I'm glad I ripped my sleeve," she said and immediately she regretted it. What in the world had she just said? It almost sounded if she had ripped her sleeve on purpose, but she hadn't meant it that way and tried to correct herself, "I mean I-I'm glad I-"

She was drowned out with the sudden eruption of music, jazzy and dramatic as it snapped through the air and sent eager couples flooding to the dance floor that was now filled with twirling dresses as partners spun and dipped to the music, looking like they were in the own little world with flirtatious smiles on their faces that matched Francis'.

"Uh-oh," she thought. Francis had set down his glass and was now close enough for her to smell his expensive floral perfume and aftershave that still lingered after all of the long hours they had spent talking. She knew he wanted to dance, but glancing at the crowded floor she backed away from his pleasant scent and warm breath.

"I'm sorry," she said, but her words had fallen on deaf ears as she was wrapped in the scent of floral and swept off to the dance floor.

His hands slowly traveled until they found a comfortable spot on her hip and he laced his fingers through hers that now burned with the unfamiliarity of affectionate touch. She stood frozen as Francis tried to persuade her to dance with an easy going smile and whispers of comfort.

"It's going to be okay," he said pulling her close when she wanted to be far away.

She looked up at him with pleading violet eyes. She wanted to go home and wanted their relationship to slow down a bit so she could have time to catch up. And it seems he understood because his expression softened and removed the hand from her hip and gently grabbed her other hand.

"Just one dance?" he asked hopefully.

She thought for a moment; one dance with a thousand chances to mess up, but when she glanced up at him from her curtain of blonde hair she saw patience and adoration, he wouldn't mind if she messed up.

She gave him a small smile; "That would be nice."

She had agreed to one dance, but it had gone on as she forgot about the people bustling around in a haze of sweaty perfume and cigarettes while Francis laughed and twirled her around to the music and things began to feel natural.

His hand was on her hip slowly guiding her to the music overhead, her usually awkward body gently swayed after a while of dancing when she had mostly had her eyes on her feet as they box stepped around the room, and his presence was more welcomed than before as he happily flirted with her throughout the night.

She hadn't even noticed how late it had gotten as the crowd thinned and the music slowed. Soon they were the only couple that continued to dance and she hadn't even noticed the admiring looks as others watched them twirl.

But she did notice was how tired she was getting, her throat tight with thirst, legs aching for rest, and her cheeks flushed. She needed a break. Francis's seemed to notice this and carefully led her off the dance floor to get a drink, her legs sore and wobbly while the room continued to spin.

"Two wine's please," he asked the bartender.

Though it didn't help her thirst, it was bitter and warm and didn't help her cool off, it seemed Francis had a plan because he grabbed her hand and led her through the club to a set of elegant double doors.

"I think this will help you cool off," he said with a wink.

The doors creaked open and cold air slithered into the room and sent a shiver through her body. She was thankful for the sudden cold and let Francis guide her out into the balcony lit only by moon light and overlooking the clubs lush grounds of greenery and sparkling fountain.

A quick intake of breath filled her lungs with cold refreshing air as she surveyed the land bathed in delicate light, but providing sharp contrasts in stretching shadows that reached for light and rippling water distorting the natural light until it seemed diamonds were spilling from the fountain.

"It's beautiful," she breathed as she gazed up at Francis.

But she was talking about more than just the garden. Francis beamed down at her, sparkling blue eyes creased with smile lines, his silky blonde hair shinning softly in the haloed moonlight, and just a bit of stubble on his strong jaw that held his smile on smooth lips.

And she remembered that she was just white noise while he was an orchestra and she shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked, shrugging of his jacket.

She just nodded and turned away to hide her blush, cursing herself for being so stupid as to accept this handsome man's request. He deserved someone more attractive and less awkward, someone who he could shower all of his never ending love on without them flinching away in uncertainty.

Then why had he chosen her? The question burned and weighed heavy on her heart. She was glad he had asked her out, but why had he? She wasn't anything special to look at and had been hostile during most of the date. Maybe it was just for kicks, but she didn't want to believe that.

So she dared to whisper; "Why did you ask me out?"

Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her neck. It sparked with electricity but calmed her with warm roughness as it gently pressed into her skin and turned her head until she was facing Francis. His other hand gently rested on her hip to turn her towards him and his soft lips were pressed against hers, sending heat through her face and body along with sparking electricity that popped and crackled through her veins and her heart that pounded in her chest.

The kiss was short lived, but she felt it all and was more saddened than embarrassed when her glass crashed to the floor. Francis didn't seem to care and he gently cupped her cheeks keeping her soft love struck eyes on his affectionate orbs filled with electricity and excitement, "Because I wanted to do that since I laid my eyes on you."

For once she didn't blush. Instead she stood straight and proud as she gently pressed her lips against his and they kissed in the moonlight.


End file.
